


Shore Leave

by x22



Category: Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: Comfort, Eating, Failed Diet, Feeding, Fluff, Friendship, Jealousy, Loneliness, Vacation, Weight Gain, weight conscious
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-20
Updated: 2019-11-24
Packaged: 2019-11-26 10:31:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 13,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18179462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/x22/pseuds/x22
Summary: Michael Burnham ends up on leave from Starfleet. She isn’t entirely happy with the arrangement, but maybe having the chance to relax and enjoy herself isn’t all bad. Besides the food is great…Takes place during Season 2 so... potential spoilers for both seasons of the show!





	1. Chapter 1

When she stepped through the door of the quaint little house, it was as if a weight was lifted off her shoulders. There was still that nagging doubt in the back of her mind, but there was logic to her sense of relief – however faint.

A year ago Michael Burnham would not have let go of responsibility like this, logic be damned. But despite betrayal at the hands of a commanding officer – impostor though he might have been – time spent aboard the Discovery had taught her to trust again. And if there were anyone she trusted, it was the crew aboard that ship. Even when it came to the fate of her brother.

Burnham sighed and dumped her small bag of personal effects in the hall. As much as she trusted Captain Pike to do the right thing in her absence, this was not a decision she made lightly. And yet, the comfortable familiarity she felt as she explored the house helped put her at ease. Somehow it felt like coming home – as much as she ever had one.

"It's best this way," she told herself. She had sorely tested Command's patience in her quest to save her brother. As everyone advised her, being a hero of the Klingon War could only protect her for so long. Much more important than her own safety, her presence invited the scrutiny of Starfleet Command and the ever-distrustful Section 31. Whatever plans Philippa Georgiou had for _her_ , Burnham knew the enigmatic ex-Emperor did not care about her friends and family.

Taking these facts into consideration it made sense to accept a short voluntary leave – while it was still technically voluntary. With her out of the way Discovery would be under less scrutiny. She tried not to think about how it meant that she had once again abandoned her brother for his own safety. At least this time he would understand.

Thinking back to their childhood, Burnham could not help but smile when she saw a Vulcan robe laid out for her on the bed. She would take any small comfort she could find in this awful situation she had put herself in.

  
  


Changed out of her uniform, Burnham finished the tour of the house. It was small and quite far from the nearest settlement. No doubt a fitting place of exile for her impertinence in the eyes of Starfleet Command. The first floor was dominated by a large living room, comfortably furnished and with a dazzling panorama view of the nearby lake – especially now that the sun was setting. Two small bedrooms completed the upstairs living quarters. The ground floor was relegated to an empty garage and storage rooms.

An idyllic vacation spot to be sure, but Burnham was under no illusions that this was anything but a glorified house arrest. _What have I done..._ she second-guessed herself, but banished the thought from her mind. She was here now.

In the spirit of making the best of it, she grabbed a cup of chai from the replicator and settled in the expansive sofa to gather her thoughts. It was a lot sweeter than she expected, but she had more important things on her mind.

"Computer, prepare news query." The mysterious signals everyone was chasing were too high-profile for even Section 31 to cover up. Burnham smirked as she considered her next words carefully: She might be grounded but she did not intend to remain idle.  
  


* * *

 

Exasperated, Burnham tossed her paper notepad across the coffee table and sighed. After a couple of days of initial optimism she now felt she was getting nowhere. Even the archaic writing tools were starting to annoy her – but it would be too risky to commit anything to digital media Section 31 could be monitoring.

The arrival of the facility's housekeeping robot with another cup of hot cocoa provided a well-timed relief for her frustrations. Slipping down in the sofa, Burnham took a grateful sip and let herself wash away with the rich, dark liquid – if but for a moment.

She stifled a yawn as she forced herself to bring her eyes back on her work: Scattered paper and hastily scribbled notes strewn about the table. Surrounding them: Several empty cups and bowls that the robot was now cleaning up, but these did not register.

"I can't focus like this..." she admitted and took another big sip. Once again it helped take the edge off. Burnham closed her eyes and opened herself to the meditation she learned as a child. She was in the swirling ocean of the universe, an ocean that turned dark brown as she continued to drink her cocoa. Her turbulent thoughts were subsumed into the cosmos. Thus diluted she gradually brought them under control until she was ready to open her eyes.

Burnham exhaled and returned to reality, where the sun was setting and the cup in her hand had been emptied. With her mind under control she felt ready to get back to work, but quickly realized she was hungry.

"Computer: Prepare a cheeseburger," she ordered without thinking. More impulsive still, she found herself adding: "Extra fries."

Delivery was prompt and to her credit Burnham tried to continue to work while she ate. Cravings came a bit too frequently, servings came a bit too quickly and her appetite gave food priority. Part of her felt like she was losing herself in the parade of temptations, but there was also the overwhelming sense of peace and satisfaction. It stood to reason that she must calm her frustrations if she were to get any work done. Thus logic dictated that she ought to have a milkshake.

Flat on the sofa, Burnham sipped indolently at the straw in her mouth. She realized she was stuffed to the gills – quite a novel sensation to her. Still she kept idly drinking the milkshake while analyzing the situation. She _felt_ bloated, but the voluminous robes she wore hid it well.

A yawn escaped Michael's lips. She had to admit she was too sluggish to get back to work, but there was a certain sense of relief as well. For the first time in ages, Michael Burnham felt able to relax. She took another sip of her milkshake and glanced up at the high ceiling with a look of contentment. Relax – and stop to enjoy the little pleasures in life.

 


	2. Chapter 2

"Personal log, Michael Burnham. Day..." Having to stop to think how long she had been on leave made her groan. Michael threw her arms over her head on the bed and closed her eyes with a deep sigh. At least the double bed was very comfortable, but it did not make her any less stir crazy.

The picturesque area around the house would have been perfect if Burnham was the outdoorsy type. Xenobiologist though she was, dark forests did not exactly conjure up pleasant memories for her and she did not consider them places fit for recreation.

Relentless workaholic as she was, being presented with no tasks and given limited means with which to conceive of her own, the de facto house arrest was starting to drive Burnham up the wall. Restlessness made it impossible to sit down to concentrate, but pacing aimlessly did nothing to help her collect her thoughts. Fortunately the food replicated here proved quite soothing – to the point where it was just a bit too easy to eat too much of it.

The unfamiliar sense of lethargy after each meal made her suspect that Section 31 was spiking the food with some sort of sedative. However, even the most thorough scans showed no hint of drugs or poison – just overindulgence. Burnham had her own explanation. After all, it was only logical that she felt tired when given a chance to rest.

"Ugh. Computer: Cancel entry." Michael's arms flopped back to her sides and she stared angrily at the ceiling. Irritation growing in her mind, she decided to call for the surefire antidote: "Substitute command: Prepare hot chocolate." The log entry could wait until she had calmed down.

Cradling the warm beverage in her hands, a chill documentary on the video screen, Burnham could happily confirm that she had made the right choice. Beside her on the bed had materialized a platter of assorted cakes. Snug under the duvet she did not question it, especially since chocolate fudge was her favourite. In fact she was beginning to realize that shore leave wasn't all bad. She still chafed under not being an active part of Discovery's investigation but at least she would be well rested and full of energy when she was able to rejoin them. Which she would shortly. First she would just have another cup of cocoa...  
  


* * *  
  


Heavily lidded eyes peered vacantly at their own reflection while Burnham brushed her teeth. Time had to pass faster than she realized when she had nothing to do, because she always felt sleepy. _Sleepy and hungry_ , she thought.

Still sluggish after dozing in bed for a while before managing to heave herself out of it, she zoned out while the toothbrush did its work. Absently she studied herself in the mirror, eyes roaming aimlessly while her hand went through its mechanical motions. Just like the idle situation she found herself in, her reflection felt a bit... off. Curiosity piqued she peered closer.

Burnham put down the toothbrush and reached up to touch her cheek. Her fingertips dipped into luxurious softness. In fact, didn't her face in general look... fuller somehow? She inclined her head and there it was: Not simply a trick of an unflattering angle, an actual double chin cushioned her jaw. Her fingers traced where it merged with her plump cheek, both blind-sided and fascinated by the change.

Despite the shock and surprise, her Vulcan-trained intellect could not help but connect the dots. It did not take much to come up with probable causes. Having a rational explanation alleviated her distress; an anchor to keep her calm and grounded as she glanced down at herself.

In all fairness, the bathrobe she was wearing was quite nice and fluffy, but nevertheless there was no denying... she was looking _big_. Her hand smoothed down the front of the robe, following the curve of her stomach to reveal the contours of a round potbelly.

A small voice in her head reminded Burnham that she had eaten a very large breakfast in bed, contending that it was only natural for her to be a bit bloated. The softness covering the stuffed core of her belly, revealed by inquisitive poking and prodding, quickly buried that excuse.

In fact, she could not stop exploring the strange curve of her abdomen; feeling the weird fullness of her breasts. Although she was scrupulous about nutrition and diligent about working out, to Burnham those had simply been yet more aspects of Starfleet life in which she could strive to excel. She had never worried about gaining weight. In fact until today she could not even imagine it.

Fascinating though it might be, logic dictated that she take a step back and accept her situation: She was getting out of shape.

"I need to start watching what I eat," she chided herself and gave her newfound potbelly a slap. The way it sent ripples through her body, burgeoning lovehandles quivering from the impact, was more alien than seeing her face puff up. "...and get some exercise." She had to be fit for fight when she returned to the Discovery.

Trying to think forward rather than dwell on how she had let herself go like this, Burnham made to leave the bathroom. She tied her bathrobe under her breasts, avoiding the recently expansive circumference of her belly, and turned around.

Before she could step into the living room, there was a ping from the house computer: "Attention: incoming shuttle. Please stay clear of the landing pad."

Burnham shot the door a worried glance. She had a bad feeling about this.

"Attention," the computer repeated and confirmed Burnham's fears: "Section 31 shuttle, coming in for landing."

 


	3. Chapter 3

A fluffy white bathrobe was not the garment Michael Burnham would have chosen to face down a Section 31 agent. Tugging at it to make it fit better, she stepped into the expansive living room to see the incoming shuttle land.

Staring at the door, Burnham crossed her arms but found herself distracted by how oddly her bosom pushed back against it. She cleared her throat and put her hands behind her back instead. Despite everything she would not give Section 31 the pleasure of seeing her caught of guard. That composure would be sorely tested.

Barely waiting for the door to slide open, Philippa Georgiou strode into the room like she owned the place. Halfway over to Michael she stopped and took in her surroundings with haughty calmness. "I hope you are doing okay?" she said eventually, eyes narrowing almost imperceptibly as she studied her counterpart.

"Have you come to finish the job?" Burnham demanded with as much confidence as she could muster. Being caught out in a bathrobe was one thing, but she would never get used to seeing her Philippa's face on that... individual.

"That depends what job you are referring to." The Emperor was glib in her response. Coming from her it was everything but disarming.

Even so, Burnham allowed herself to relax a little. If she just wanted to kill her, this version of Philippa would already have done so. "Did Section 31 send you to make sure I stay out of their hair?"

Georgiou tutted her disapproval: "I go where I want to go." Her tone was unsurprisingly patronizing. "I just wanted to make sure you were okay."

"Is that so." Burnham was solidly unconvinced.

"Mmmh..." Georgiou replied inscrutably before her eyes drifted conspicuously to Burnham's waistline. Her head swayed meaningfully from side to side as if considering it: "I see the food is to your taste at least."

Instinctively, Michael put a hand on her full belly and rubbed it thoughtfully; absently. Realization made her step closer to her unbidden guest, leaning forward to demand answers, all the while eyeing her warily: "Wait... was this on purpose?"

"I have no idea what you are talking about."

Burnham scoffed, as much in disbelief as exasperation. "You can tell your masters it'll take more than this to put me out of commission."

"A conspiracy?" Georgiou was impassive but for an unimpressed tug at the corner of her mouth. "Or have you simply enjoyed yourself a bit too much? Either way, I can assure you Section 31 has nothing to do with it."

"This place isn't really their style," Michael admitted reluctantly as she glanced around the living room.

"See, I knew you'd like it here," Georgiou said with a self-satisfied smirk.

"Why not simply imprison me?" Seeing such an expression on this familiar face threw Burnham off balance and her voice was raw with emotion as she blurted out the question.

The former emperor began to pace the room, seemingly unconcerned with turning her back to a potential adversary. "I didn't think it necessary. Besides, have you seen how incompetent those Section 31 goons are?"

"Because you keep undermining them."

Georgiou snapped around to look at Burnham again: "Exactly! If I can play those fools this easily, how would they fare against you?" She cocked her head, eyes meeting Burnham's, and quipped: "The apple doesn't fall far from the tree."

"You know I'm not your daughter." The retort was terse, almost threatening. It was then quickly undermined when a low growl disturbed the tense silence between them. Burnham put a self-conscious hand on her grumbling stomach and averted her eyes.

"Ah, why don't we continue this conversation over a meal?" Georgiou said blithely and took advantage of the distraction to guide the other woman towards the sofa. "Computer: Prepare chocolate fudge cake."

"Wait... how did you..."

"Yes, you're not my Michael." Georgiou smiled as she picked up the plate brought over by the housekeeping robot. "But you're so much like her."

The words hit Burnham even more than they should: She recognized the look on the former emperor's face. It was the look Philippa – _her_ Philippa – would give her when she knew Michael saw through her. The realization there was no use obfuscating the truth.

Burnham let herself be sat them down on the sofa and accepted the cake. If Georgiou was prepared to be even slightly honest with her, she would listen.

Sitting down with confident nonchalance, the emperor mustered the cool arrogance of her former position: "I will not lose you a second time."

Without thinking, Burnham was digging into her treat: "You set this up so I would become too decadent to betray you a second time?"

"No. You don't have what it takes to do what she did." The former emperor did not sound as dismissive of that fact as Michael would have expected. "I sought to make you so comfortable you would stay here – and stay safe."

"As much as I appreciate your concern for my safety, it's going to take a lot more than cakes and comfy beds to keep me from doing my duty," Burnham said sardonically. Still, she accepted a second plate.

Georgiou scoffed and looked into the distance as Michael continued to eat. "I realize you will not simply take my word for it."

"Yeah we're way past that." Burnham scarfed down another mouthful and waved her empty spoon dismissively.

"You can't go back." The emperor's tone brooked no protest. She found herself patently ignored. It was with an exasperated groan she finally turned to Burnham who was obstinately devouring her cake. "The Discovery has gone rogue."

This made her look up from her treat, but Burnham managed to regain her composure rather quickly. "Then why would you still keep me here?" she demanded.

"Michael, we both know how you are with mutinies," Georgiou tutted. "More cake?"

Burnham's eyes narrowed as she testily grabbed the plate, but swallowed her anger along with another slice. She continued to eat in silence, deep in thought for what seemed like an eternity. Finally she licked the last spoon clean and said softly: "Then my friends are lost to me." She looked up at Philippa as if only now realizing: "I can't locate the Red Angel by myself. And my brother..."

Awkwardly, Georgiou put a hand on Burnham's shoulder. It wasn't exactly a gesture of genuine comfort, rather it felt like a sign of approval.

"I... I need a drink..." Michael blinked and stammered as if unable to comprehend how her world just changed. "And a lot more of that cake."

  
  


Georgiou watched silently as Michael devoured everything that was put in front of her. Even as she drowned her despair in chocolate fudge cake, ice cream and strawberry parfait she kept up a stoic façade. However, growing discomfort would intrude upon it as her gorging caught up with her.

Nearly horizontal on the sofa, Burnham threw her head back against the pillow and shut her eyes. Gingerly she rubbed the side of her swollen belly and moaned softly. When she managed to lift her head again it was with her usual determination burning in her eyes.

"Is there... any more of that mousse...?" she groaned. Lifting her hand off her abdomen, Michael tried to reach for the treats on the coffee table but quickly had to admit defeat against her stuffed belly. She gave Philippa a pleading look.

"It seems you won't be getting into any trouble, at least," Georgiou observed. She took a spoonful of chocolate goodness and leaned forward to answer the engorged commander's silent entreaties. "...but let's make doubly sure, hmm?"

"Y-yes!" Burnham gasped, already eagerly opening her mouth for more.

For her part, Georgiou also seemed to appreciate her task in her own way. Whether she was happy to incapacitate a potential threat or pretending to dote on a surrogate for her treacherous daughter was impossible to tell. Possibly both.

With each bite, Burnham seemed to slip further and further down in her seat to accommodate her swelling belly. Forced to lean over it, Georgiou likewise found it harder and harder to keep her fed. Soon the former emperor's lean body brushed against the swollen orb of Burnham's belly.

Philippa exhaled sharply and fumbled with the spoon in her hand before absently stuffing it into Michael's waiting maw. Steadying herself, she managed to pull back and paused to clear her throat before deciding to scoop up some more ice cream.

Perilously perched on one hand, Georgiou stretched to her full length to reach over Burnham's enormously swollen midsection. Their eyes met, Burnham's intense gaze captivating her. Slowly, the other woman's mouth opened to accept the offering.

The emperor saw it, but in this precarious position she did not have time to react. Throwing off her overindulged sluggishness, Michael's hand shot up and grabbed Philippa's neck. She went limp in an instant, eliciting a loud groan of discomfort as she flopped down on Burnham's tender belly.

For a few moments Burnham lay there, effectively pinning herself with her own nerve pinch. Eventually she gathered herself – and her strength – enough to push the paralyzed Philippa off her. She slumped onto the floor, allowing Burnham to ponderously maneuver herself upright – not quite as helpless as she had let on.

"I'm sorry, I really am." Michael looked down at Philippa over her bulging belly. "But Discovery needs me. My _friends_ need me."

Georgiou's frozen eyes stared up at her in silent contempt... or could it be... hurt?

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was agonizing over how I would write "the emperor" here. Now that I've seen "The Red Angel" I feel silly for ever worrying about being inconsistent with her.


	4. Chapter 4

"Don't worry Mr. Saru, Owo will keep an eye out while we're down here." Christopher Pike marched down the spaceship corridor with measured alacrity as he spoke. Approaching a double-wide door he turned to the Barzan beside him: "Commander Nhan, is the shuttle bay cleared?"

"Yes sir." Before they opened the door, she ventured: "Are you sure you don't want me to deploy additional security?"

Captain Pike gave her a reassuring smile: "If it's a trap, that's what they expect us to do. I'd rather spring it early than give them time to prepare."

Nhan realized it was futile to argue, but still drew her phaser before they stepped into the shuttle bay. Instead she settled for giving Saru an exasperated look. The Kelpien replied with silent sympathy.

Devoid of people apart from those three, the bay was dominated by the sleek blackness of a Section 31 shuttle. It's engines were just now powering down, indicating that it had just landed. Its landing ramp extended with an ominous hiss and instinctively Nhan trained her weapon on the opening doors. Heavy steps echoed through the cavernous shuttle bay as everyone waited with baited breath.

"Commander... _Burnham_?" Saru exclaimed, mouth agape.

Waddling ponderously down the ramp, Burnham clutched her bulging side. Still painfully full, her belly could not be contained by her straining uniform, revealing a taut curve jutting over her trousers. This wasn't the only thing trying to escape the confines of the tortured outfit. The advanced fabric was stretched to its limits, taut across soft arms and a well-padded rear. Stiffly encased as she was, there was no wonder Burnham was having trouble, but as usual she defiantly refused to show any weakness.

Not waiting for Nhan to conduct safety scans, Pike greeted his long-absent officer with good-natured incredulity: "Commander. You're looking... well?"

Burnham tugged evasively at the hem of her shirt. It did not budge even a millimetre. "Ahem, I had to, uh, neutralize a Section 31 agent," she explained enigmatically.

"I... see." The captain could not help but glance down at her ill-fitting uniform. "Well! It's good to have you back. Looks like you could use some rest after that... encounter." He gestured towards the Kelpien: "Mr. Saru will get you up to speed. I need to get back on that bridge in case anyone's following you."

Twitches of protest tugged at Burnham's surprisingly full face, but she swallowed her pride and nodded – with the plump bulge of a small double chin accompanying the gesture.

  
  


"And not to worry, your brother is safe on Vulcan," Saru went on as he and Burnham walked. "We haven't been able to contact him directly, for obvious reasons, but..."

Noticing the corridor was empty, Saru responded to a partially suppressed groan from Michael by putting an arm around her. Despite herself she let out a sigh of relief.

"I'm fine," she assured him, but allowing herself to lean slightly on him for support. "I just had a brief run-in with the Emperor."

Saru's mouth curled in disgust, quickly replaced by concern: "We should get you to medbay!"

"No... no. I'm not hurt, I just..." Burnham stroked the taut bulge of her exposed lower belly and gave him a wry look: "I just ate too much. I had to trick her into thinking I was helpless."

To his credit, Saru simply nodded upon hearing this scheme: "I can see how that would be challenging," he remarked earnestly, before cocking his head as he observed Burnham's distraught silence. "Don't worry, get some rest and this will all be forgotten tomorrow."

"Thanks, Saru. I guess _you_ I can bear seeing me like this..."

  
  


Burnham let out a groan of relief as she peeled off the intolerably tight uniform. She could feel her abused body billow as it was freed, soft chub bulging around the edge of the fabric as she undressed. Right now it didn't concern her half as much as flopping down on her bed and letting herself breathe. It had been a... strange day cycle, and an exhausting one.

"So much for getting into shape before coming back..." she mused as she glanced over her unfamiliar bust and at the stuffed curve ahead. She stroked it tentatively. The "DISCO" top she had changed into couldn't even cover all of it. And even if she did find clothes that fit she was in no state to exercise right now.

"Ugh, Saru is right. I just need to rest and _this_ will be gone in the morning." Burnham expressly did not think about the parts of her that most certainly would _not_ be gone in just one night. She sighed and let her head fall back onto the pillow.

"At least no one else saw me like this," she observed just as a mechanical hiss heralded the door to her room opening.

 


	5. Chapter 5

Michael Burnham jumped to her feet, or rather rolled out of bed, letting gravity help shift her stuffed middle. Too late she realized she was standing there in just underwear and a black top that, at the moment, left half of her midriff exposed.

"Goshdarnit, I swear if that computer skimped on the sugar again I–" Her attention wrenched away from the huge coffee cup in her hand, Sylvia Tilly froze to the spot just two steps into the room. The first sign of life was her eyelids starting to flutter in confusion. Eventually, she let out a half-swallowed gasp before tossing aside the PADD in her hand and rushing over to embrace her roommate. The coffee remained safely in her grasp.

"You're back!" the perplexed ensign said breathlessly. For her part, Michael let the room descend into awkward silence until Tilly eased her grip on her and pulled back slightly: "I was so worried, what with the mutiny and all and – sorry I shouldn't use that word, I know it's bad memories. What I mean is, Dicovery isn't on the best of terms with Starfleet right now. And I didn't have any idea where you were! Are you okay? How did you get back?"

"I'm fine," Burnham assured her, a fond smile banishing her woes for the moment. "Maybe a bit too fine..." A guilty hand brushed the side of her belly.

With a curious look, Tilly's gaze followed the motion. Slowly scanning her recently returned roommate up and down she took a step back to fully take in what was slowly dawning on her. Her jaw hit the floor with a tiny gasp.

"Wow."

Michael averted her gaze under Tilly's scrutiny. Noticing, the ensign moved in to give her an awkward pat on the shoulder. Looking for something to break the tension, she inched a bit closer still – enough for her belly to bump into Michael's.

"Hey, look... you've got a bigger tummy than me now," she joked in a self-deprecating manner, patting the slight curve of her stomach for emphasis.

Burnham couldn't help but chuckle at Tilly's antics, her face breaking into an incredulous grin. "I had a big meal before I came here."

"It must've been good! If it were me I wouldn't have wanted to leave!"

"It was," Michael admitted, scoffing at the surreality of it all. "Maybe a bit too good..." She tugged at the black "DISCO" top where it failed to cover plump little lovehandles whose existence neither could have imagined before Burnham left.

Tilly's eyes followed Burnham's hands, roamed her body and marvelled at how... unlike herself she looked. Noticeably bigger, even if she could not by any means be called fat or even properly plump. She saw the firm muscles of a compulsive athlete draped in gentle softness. She saw the way her own little belly pushed gently into Michael's stuffed orb.

Blushing apologetically, Tilly raised her hands and stepped away from her roommate. "I-I'm sorry. I didn't mean to tease you."

"It's fine," Michael assured her, patting her belly. Tilly's eyes linger on the lingering wobble in the soft layer surrounding its taut bulge. "Thank you for making me laugh about it."

"So you're not upset?"

Burnham sat down heavily on her bed, resting her belly on plush thighs. "Not anymore. Tomorrow I'll get back to my usual routine and soon everything will be like it was." With that she lay down on the bed and rolled over to sleep.

"...like it was, huh..." Tilly mumbled to herself and took a big sip of her coffee. Before her, Michael's blanket had slipped so that she could not help but look at lovehandles forming plump rolls on the once-wiry woman's back.

 


	6. Chapter 6

As she stirred, Burnham screwed her eyes shut, willing herself to stay unconscious until the reassuring hum of the Discovery had spread through her. Calmed by the ship's familiar presence she exhaled and opened her eyes to see the ceiling. _A good sign_. If she had rolled onto her back during the night it meant that she wasn't as full as she had been last night.

In fact she was feeling quite ravenous.

"Oh good, you're awake!" Michael turned her head to look at a smiling Tilly. The redhead was sitting on her bed opposite her, PADD resting in her lap.

Michael's eyes narrowed lethargically: "Have you been waiting for me long?"

"No. Nooo..." Tilly dismissed her. "Just a couple of hours... or so..."

With a grunt, Burnham shuffled upright, feeling the stiffness in her limbs from having overslept. She rubbed the sleep out of her eyes and glanced down at a source of resistance as she sat up: A far cry from yesterday's burden, she saw her belly nevertheless poke out of her crumpled t-shirt to rest on her thighs. And this time she couldn't blame being stuffed. As if to ram the point home a hungry gurgle erupted from her plush midsection.

"It's been so long, why don't we go have lunch together?" Tilly grinned. Noticing the odd look she was given, the ensign shrugged, gesturing as if weighing her words between her hands: "Lunch... breakfast... whatever. Breakfast is just the first meal after you wake up having fallen asleep in your spore sample because they're just so goshdarn fascinating you lost track of time and kinda stayed up all night studying them... right?"

"We've all been there," Michael said patiently and swung her legs out of the bed. As stiff and flabby as she felt, at least it was miles better than yesterday. She sat there for a while, looking down at herself. Her field of view was unfamiliarly obscured, but the chubby tummy pooling in her lap still poked out enough for her to see it clearly – especially now that she was sitting upright.

"I don't have anything to wear though..." she remarked, tugging at her shirt. If she really pulled it down, the black top could probably cover _almost_ all of her midsection – and hug her curves a lot more than she was comfortable with right now.

"Not to worry!" Tilly jumped to her feet, deftly tossing her datapad onto the bed in the process. "I shall go fetch us something to eat and I'll pick up some fresh clothes on the way!"

There was a wry tint to the smile of gratitude Michael offered her: "Don't get too distracted. The sooner I can hit the gym the better."

"Ensign's honour!" Tilly said solemnly, holding up the palm of her hand before disappearing out of the room.

Left alone, Burnham found herself just sitting on the bed for a while, soaking in the spacehip's ambience. It felt good to be back, but she couldn't quite explain why. In fact she had grown accustomed to the comfortable serenity of her exile, where the most pressing matter had been whether to have breakfast in bed or in the living room. While not extravagant, the house had offered everything she needed: wrapped in a cocoon of soft bedsheets, comfort food and fluffy robes.

Perhaps eventually she would have been able to learn to let go. Let someone else save the galaxy for once. Completely isolated from the struggles of Starfleet, then, she might have had a chance to forget. Just forget and rest and let herself be healed. Even now she could hear that siren song: Peace.

Perhaps that had been the Emperor's plan after all. Exile her, not to keep Michael out of the way, but to force her to recuperate. Try as she might there was no denying that Georgiou cared for her, in her own strange, Terran way. And yet, Burnham had used that knowledge to trick her and escape the paradise that had been established for her. She could still see Philippa's hurt face when she left her paralyzed.

_That paradise would've made you fat and lazy_ , Burnham told herself. Her hand slipped into the crease between her thighs and her burgeoning belly, exploring its soft but firm underside, feeling its surprising heft. A small voice pointed out that she could imagine worse fates, but now that she was sitting here Michael realized there was no escaping this ship for her. _Discovery_ had been the source of many trials and tribulations, but those troubles had helped shape her. And more importantly, helped her find her friends. A perfect paradise would always be imperfect if she couldn't share it with those she had gotten close to on this ship.

The hiss from the door pulled Burnham out of her reverie. She yanked back the hand under her belly, grimacing as she felt it jiggle from the abrupt motion.

"Okay, okay I'm back!" Tilly's heavy breathing suggested she ran all the way from the mess hall. "Guess who brought burritos." Showing off the two bags she was carrying, she plopped down next to Burnham. It wasn't as if Michael's thighs had gotten much bigger but evidently big enough that Tilly's got close enough to brush against hers...

"And yes, there's extra roasted tomato salsa on yours," Tilly winked and handed over a thermobox from one of the bags.

Burnham opened it quickly and began to dig in eagerly. Tilly could not help but stare, seeing her eat like a starving woman – Michael was already half-finished by the time the young cadet even got around to opening her own meal.

"Oh shoot. There's extra on mine too." Tilly's expression left no doubt that she was _not_ about to eat this.

"That's fine," Burnham told her with her mouth full. Simply too ravenous to help herself, she grabbed one of Tilly's burritos.

The redhead's lips quivered uncertainly into a sympathetic smile. "Here, you can have the rest of it as well," she offered and poured the remainder of her meal over into Michael's box. "I also brought ice cream."

"That's hardly an adequate replacement for a proper lunch," Michael countered, bits of meat and tortilla sticking out of her mouth as she chewed a big mouthful. Swallowing, she gave Tilly a sheepish look: "But I realize I'm in no position to criticize anyone's nutritional choices at the moment."

Holding the cup of ice cream in her lap with both hands, Tilly leaned over slightly, back straight and with a mischievous look on her face. Burnham burst out laughing and gestured for Tilly to carry on.

Having gotten permission, Tilly sucked thoughtfully on a spoonful of ice cream before remarking: "You shouldn't be so hard on yourself. You look great."

"It's not that simple," Michael countered, but she was still hungrily chowing down the extra burritos.

"Take it from me, you don't have to be skinny to be successful, attractive and _a badass_." Tilly averted her eyes briefly, then compelled herself to put on a big smile: "At least that's what I keep telling myself."

Burnham shifted uncomfortably: "That's... different."

"What? 'cause I'm just inherently chubby or something?"

"No that's not what I meant," Michael apologized. She glanced down at herself. "It's just... something like this has never happened to me before."

Tilly reached over to give Burnham an awkward pat on the back: "Don't worry about it. You're Michael friggin' Burnham. Twelve angry Klingons couldn't stop you; this ain't nothing."

Michael looked up again with eyes full of gratitude. Eating more slowly now, she finished her meal. "Thank you, Tilly."

"Don't mention it," the redhead said with feigned nonchalance. "I, uh, I'll always be there for ya and uhm... uh... ice cream?" With a relieved smile she held up a fresh cup of the stuff.

"I really shouldn't but... sure." Michael gave her companion a fond smile as she leaned close to pick up the offered treat.

Stiffening visible at Michael's close proximity, Tilly jumped up as soon as the goods had been handed over. "Ah, ahh... I should get going. Airiam needs my help with the sphere data!"

"Wait, what about the clothes?"

Tilly stopped in the doorway and rolled her eyes at herself: "Oh shoot. I completely forgot about those. Uh, I'll grab some when my shift's over okay? Sorry, bye!"

Left alone with her ice cream, Burnham watched the cadet disappear. Taking a pensive spoonful she looked down at the edge of the bed. _Then what's in the other bag...?_

Curious, she leaned over to inspect it, distracted by the way her belly scrunched up into plump rolls as she did so. "You can't be serious..." she muttered to herself as she peered into the bag. Inside it: stacked boxes of cakes and snacks.

 


	7. Chapter 7

The dull rhythm of running shoes hitting synthetic rubber barely registered in Burnham's mind. As she kept running on the treadmill, the unfamiliar way her body shook and quivered drove her to distraction. With each firm step she felt the inadequacy of her sports bra. The languid surge of burgeoning lovehandles. The cascade of ripples sent through her midsection, a quake sustained by constant motion.

Even in simple exercise, Michael stuck to an optimized technique, perfected until it was second nature. But what should have been familiar to the point of obliviousness was now intensely noticeable: Every step was a little heavier; every motion that more ponderous.

Michael clenched her jaw and willed herself to not touch her jiggling abdomen. She had let herself go soft while on involuntary leave, but she would not allow herself to slow down. Eyes fixed on the opposite end of the small gym, she continued as if nothing had changed. As if plump lovehandles did not bulge over the waistband of her tights. As if those tights were not several sizes larger than those she had worn before leaving the _Discovery_. But all that unfamiliar chub would not stop weighing on her mind.

To some extent it was actually a welcome distraction. With all that was happening – the unfolding mystery of the signals, _Discovery's_ defection, Section 31's perfidy, the fate of her brother – being so utterly preoccupied with such a mundane matter was soothing. Grounding. Meditative, even as physical reality intruded upon her perfect routine, her breath growing quickly more laboured as her thighs heaved and shook.

Before Michael's posture could slip, her own breathing was eclipsed by desperate gasps beside her. She slowed down and glanced over at her exercise companion.

"Sorry... I just... need a... break..." Sylvia Tilly panted, nearly doubling over as she stumbled off the treadmill. Burnham followed suit, albeit in a rather more dignified fashion.

"Hey, are you okay?" Genuinely worried, Michael's previous consternation was immediately forgotten. She put a gentle hand on the poor redhead's shoulder: "We've been through this, you don't have to push yourself too far."

Tilly straightened up and offered her a sheepish smile: "It's okay. You know how much you helped motivate me when I was trying to get into the CTP... I wanted to return the favour."

Michael's own smile was more ambivalent. Her friend's heartfelt words brought elation, but also served as a reminder of just how long it had taken her to get on that treadmill. At first she lacked any clothes that fit, then she could not bring herself to jog out in the corridors, uncertain of her own fitness level.

Even when she capitulated and decided to use the small gym room instead something always seemed to come up... She'd end up eating too much and feel too full to jog. Or Tilly would show up just as she was about to get out of the room, offering an irresistible chance for normalcy and companionship in these crazy times. Michael didn't want to think about how much more out of shape she had gotten before she finally managed to jog her first step.

"Much appreciated, Tilly. Thanks for helping me get my lazy rear to the gym." Burnham squeezed Tilly's shoulder, taking pity on the exhausted redhead: "That's enough for today. Come on, I'll treat you to a milkshake." Tilly had already done so much for her, she just couldn't bring herself to force the girl to run herself ragged for her sake.

The redhead beamed, so perky it seemed she had not even been _a little_ out of breath a moment ago... "Is that how it works? Holy heck, I'd have gone here ages ago!"

  
  


Burnham sat staring at the cafeteria table and wondered when that one milkshake had turned into a full-blown meal. It was between regular meal times and Tilly had taken advantage of the lack of patrons to really give the replicators a workout.

Michael's own workout, brief though it had been, had given her an appetite and she had lost track of how much food and dessert she had consumed. All she knew was that she was feeling stuffed to the gills – and rather guilty. And that, despite all this, she _really_ wanted to eat that slice of chocolate fudge cake on Tilly's tray.

Tearing her eyes away from the tempting treat, Michael focussed on her companion: Ignoring her meal, there was a distant look in Tilly's eyes. It was not exactly unusual for the ensign to space out, but Michael nevertheless asked: "Something on your mind?"

Yanked back to reality, the flustered redhead simply blurted out: "Shower." Pausing as if to process her own reply, she babbled further explanation: "Shower _thoughts_. I had one of those. You know, the kind of epiphany you get in the shower. Not thinking _about_ showers." She scoffed dramatically. "That'd be ridiculous!"

"I'm familiar with the term." Michael raised a pointed eyebrow.

Tilly smoothed down her fresh uniform and composed herself: "There you go. Those." Changing the subject she looked down at the barely touched second helping in front of her: "Oh my gosh, I got kind of carried away at the replicator, didn't I? Hey, you want some extra caramel pudding?"

"I really shouldn't..." Michael ventured half-heartedly, but Tilly did not wait for an answer. In fact she had already pushed the whole tray across the table.

"Come on, I'm fit to burst over here." For emphasis, Tilly slipped down in her seat, rubbing the exaggerated curve of her belly. "You don't want to be responsible for me exploding, right?"

Michael chuckled, then winced as the chuckle jostled her stuffed stomach: "I'm reasonable certain your uniform would explode long before you did." Even so she found herself snatching up the seductive treats she was offered.

 


	8. Chapter 8

Michael Burnham tugged awkwardly at her uniform, unable to keep herself from frowning. She was certain the computer had been updated with her new measurements, but the recently replicated outfit still felt rather snug. It was an issue that would have to wait, however. With Pike and Saru beside her in the transporter room she fixed her gaze ahead and focussed on the dancing particles heralding a visitor.

"Admiral Cornwell...?" Michael blurted out as their guest materialized before them.

Although he seemed just as puzzled by the admiral's visit, Captain Pike managed to keep his composure enough to smooth over the awkward introduction: "What a pleasant surprise. It's good to see you, Admiral."

"I wouldn't be so sure," Cornwell countered evenly. "I don't bring good news." A small smile touched her lips: "Nor were I ever here to be seen by any of you, of course."

"A senior Starfleet officer on board a rogue starship? You were never here," Pike replied with a smile of his own.

"Then... why the _Discovery_?" Michael asked. Why go through the trouble of taking an untraced shuttle to meet them in the middle of nowhere when Starfleet had many other capable ships to call upon. The obvious answer was to lure them into a trap, but she could not imagine Cornwell doing something like that. Something was very wrong.

"I believe we are dealing with a threat from within and I couldn't risk tipping them off."

"Section 31," Michael nearly snarled.

"In a manner of speaking," Cornwell replied, less vehemently. "I never really believed that _Discovery_ would betray Starfleet and it seems someone at Section 31 has been misleading us for some time. I hope you can forgive us for allowing that distrust to force you to go on leave, Commander Burnham."

"I'm... working on it." Michael averted her eyes; the hand brushing against the bountiful bulge of her belly suggested that forgiveness was not what she was referring to.

Picking up on the awkward atmosphere, Captain Pike turned to gesture towards the door: "Come on, let's discuss this somewhere else, shall we?"

  
  


An eerie calm settled over the _Discovery_ as it hovered within viewing distance of the sinister former prison complex now holding Section 31's secret headquarters. Deep gashes in the ship's hull were additional proof that the artificial intelligence housed inside the base had gone rogue – and that there was no navigating the minefield protecting it. The only way to disable it would be to send a landing party. Deciding who was the most qualified was another matter...

Burnham stood stiffly, waiting for the door to the Captain's quarters to close. "I know I haven't done the physical evaluation since I came back," she told Pike, "but I assure you, I'm not so out of shape that I can't join the landing party."

"I have complete faith in Mr. Saru's ability to get the job done," the captain assured her.

Taken aback by the insinuation that she would doubt her close friend's qualifications, Michael inclined her head in disbelief: "That's not what I meant, I just think I... Sir, I would like to request permission to join the landing party."

"Commander Burnham. This..." Pike made a gesture towards the lifeless space station outside the window. "As serious as the situation is, this is just a distraction. I don't care about the tests; your destiny is tied to the Red Angel and those signals."

Displeasure tugged at the corner of Burnham's mouth, just like she tugged at the hem of her ill-fitting uniform. "With all due respect, sir... you know I don't put much stock in destiny."

"We need Airiam on that away mission to deal with Control. That leaves the sphere data idle, so I want you to review what she has found. Destiny or not, no one else has both the expertise and experience with the Red Angel like you do."

"By your command," Burnham nodded reluctantly. Giving her tight uniform shirt a final adjustment, she turned around to walk stiffly out of the room.

  
  


"Heeey, what's wrong?" Having caught up with Burnham in the hallway, Tilly gave her friend a worried look.

"Nothing," Michael lied badly.

"Come on, we're best friends, right? You can tell me anything. I know I talk a lot, but I'm a great listener too. Hey..." Tilly put a hand on Michael's shoulder. "Why don't we snuggle up with a silly movie and some snacks?"

Michael's eyes glanced down at herself, suddenly taking a left and no longer heading for the science lab. "No thank you. I have to go to the gym."

Squeezing the chunky officer's plump upper arm, Tilly offered a disarming smile: "Surely with _these_ biceps you don't have to go there."

"Captain Pike seems to think otherwise," Michael brusquely rebuffed her attempt at levity. Taken aback, Tilly let go and stopped in her tracks. Only when Michael was far down the hall did she recover enough to shout, flustered though she was:

"That's fine! I'll, uh... I'll meet you in the science lab later then!"

  
  


With a sigh, Burnham gave the files displayed before her an idle swipe. Rather than stand she had quickly sat down next to the research console upon arriving at the lab. Once there, she had gradually slipped further and further towards the horizontal throughout the mind-numbing work, in an unconscious attempt to minimize the sensation of her belly filling her lap. After her brief workout she had given up on zipping up her uniform, revealing how her black t-shirt now clung tightly to the roundness of said belly.

Without thinking, Burnham took a sip of soda and only now realized Tilly had refilled her glass – again. She sighed and looked down at what she could see of her gut beyond her burgeoning bosom, as if there was a direct correlation. Still, she didn't stop drinking.

Before she could be confronted with having downed another glass of soda, the door to the lab slid open. Burnham didn't need to look to know who had arrived and soon enough Tilly plopped down a bountifully furnished food tray in front of her with a big smile.

"I thought I told you to bring some _low-calorie_ food," Michael pointed out upon seeing the juicy burgers, thick milkshakes and succulent pastries on display. It was the one concession she had wrested out of Tilly when she could not resist her offer to get them lunch. Despite her protestations, however, Michael remained lounging quite languidly in her chair. Then her eyes strayed to the almost empty soda glass in her hand: "Wait... are you trying to sabotage my diet?"

Michael emptied the glass and waved it in front of Tilly's incredulous face: "That would explain why I haven't lost, but in fact _gained_ ten kilos since I came back." She rubbed her belly for emphasis, as if her tight t-shirt didn't emphasize it enough.

"Whaaat?" Nooo..." Tilly blinked furiously, but then she had to acknowledge all the junk food arranged in front of Burham. "Wait... I have haven't I?" she realized guiltily.

Clearing her throat, the redhead awkwardly started to move the recently replicated food around the tray as if it was all she could do to distract herself. Puzzled, Michael just observed her until she found her voice again.

"Oh I'm so sorry. I didn't do it on purpose, I really didn't. But now that you mention it, it's like..." Tilly babbled while stacking burgers into perfect geometric shapes. "You know you can be pretty scary, right? When I first met you, I was really worried you'd, I dunno, punch my head off! And that was _before_ I learned who you were. Sorry, I didn't mean to bring that up. What I mean is, when you came back I felt like... you were a bit less intimidating, somehow? Literally softer around the edges, I guess. I mean, you're Michael friggin Burnham! But seeing you eat, like, ice cream. It's like you were almots on the level of us mere mortals, you know. So I suppose I kinda... subconsciously tried to keep you from losing weight."

The redhead's earnest torrent of words softened Michael's stern mien and she sat upright to put a reassuring hand on Tilly's arm: "Hey, you didn't mean to."

Lip quivering, Tilly nodded: "I'm so totally sorry. Here... I'll take this back." She grabbed the heavily laden tray and headed for the door: "I promise: only, uh, quinoa and... spinach...? ...from now on!"

 


	9. Chapter 9

Towel thrown over her shoulders, Burnham sat down heavily on her bed and sighed. Her body ached after an intense workout, but that wasn't the reason for her dejected demeanour. In fact she had cut the session short, though not for a lack of stamina. It was the weekend and usually around this time she and Tilly would be chilling with a mindless vid or some peculiar documentary of Tilly's choosing.

Now she was left by her lonesome. Recently, Tilly had become averse to their regular movie nights. _Still, perhaps that isn't all bad_. Michael's hand brushed against her belly where it was exposed below the hem of her shirt. Those evenings had invariably been accompanied by copious amounts of snacks and drinks, with predictable results.

Burnham kept being taken aback by just how big that gut had gotten. She had let herself get lazy on shore leave but what had been a slight potbelly had doubled in size since then. Now it approached the halfway mark on her thighs when she sat down like this. If she was going to get back into shape she couldn't get weighed down any more than she already was.

Slipping into her shirt, Burnham's hand explored the gentle curve of the top of her belly. She couldn't help but smile wryly. While they were watching vids, Tilly had an unerring tendency to end up using that plump tummy as a pillow of sorts. It made Michael feel even fatter than she was, but even more so it was oddly endearing.

Burnham let out another heavy sigh and finished her introspection with a light slap on her midsection. As much as the subsequent jiggle spreading across bulging lovehandles and chunky thighs served as a reminder of the bad influence Tilly had been on her, Michael would rather have the girl by her side. She could really do with the companionship right now. With so much going on – Airiam's death... the revelation that Michael was somehow the Red Angel... – she would give anything for that piece of normalcy Tilly could provide her.

With an exasperated groan, Burnham flopped back onto the bed and covered her eyes with her forearm. _Might as well make it an early night_. Tilly was no doubt off somewhere with someone who was less of a buzzkill. "'A bit less intimidating, somehow'," she quoted the redhead, but in a bitter tone that would have been very unlike Tilly.

With a huff, Burnham heaved herself onto her side and settled in for an agitated night's sleep. All of a sudden she didn't care about how heavy she felt. Instead she only felt lonely.

 

* * *

 

"Georgiou!"

Ahead of Burnham, Philippa stopped strolling through the _Discovery's_ halls like she owned the place. Reluctantly, she turned to glance back at Michael.

"I thought I'd find you lurking here." Burnham's tone was acerbic in an attempt to put on a brave face. She had not seen the former Emperor since she stole her shuttle to escape semi-voluntary shore leave, but when Leland showed up on board, Michael knew Georgiou had to be around. Their meeting had been quite the revelation, but in typical Section 31 fashion, infuriatingly cryptic. The plan to trap the Red Angel – trap _her_ – had Georgiou's name written all over it, yet she had not been at the meeting.

"You aren't avoiding me, are you?" Given how she had left Philippa paralysed in a remote forest villa, Michael might have affected a less standoffish demeanour. But the fact remained that it was Philippa who had set Michael up, conspiring to neutralize her by keeping her pampered and sluggish. Burnham wasn't about to give the ex-Emperor the satisfaction of thinking she had succeeded.

"Ah, Michael." Georgiou's eyes worked their way down Burnham's body, following the curve of her full breasts; studying how the seams of her uniform struggled against her stout midsection; observing the taut fabric stretched across plump thighs. Her polite words were as tense as Michael's: "You're looking... well."

"Suddenly eager to study your handiwork?"

Georgiou quirked an eyebrow: " _My_ handiwork...?" She stepped closer to put a hand on Michael's waist: "Seems to me you've been blossoming _quite_ impressively since you knocked me out and left me marooned on that backwater..."

Burnham tensed up, her double chin getting more pronounced as she recoiled at the other woman's touch.

"No hard feelings." Georgiou gave her midsection a pat. "I would have done the same in your place."

"Then why are you avoiding me?" Michael countered, firmly re-establishing her personal space by starting to walk. "What is Leland not telling us?"

"Michael..." Had it come from anyone else, Georgiou's voice sounded almost a little pleading as she made to follow. "Like I told you, I'm just trying to protect you."

"I've had quite enough of your 'protection'," Burnham shot back, patting the ample roundness of her belly. "Here's your chance to prove that you are being sincere. Especially if... _this_... ends up getting me pulled from active duty now that the _Discovery_ is back with Starfleet."

"I don't have the answers your looking for, but regarding your present... circumstances I can try to put in a good word."

"Then who does?" Michael nodded to herself: "...Leland."

Georgiou's silence was plenty confirmation. Her eyes begged Michael to reconsider; a futile gesture.

"Don't worry," Burnham called over her shoulder as her plump rump sped ahead. "We'll just have a friendly little chat."

 

* * *

 

"Good morning, Commander," Saru nodded as he kept walking down the corridor. Since Burnham had quite deliberately joined him, he found it appropriate to keep her apprised: "Work on the trap is going ahead as planned. Even if you broke Captain Leland's nose yesterday."

"My only regret is that I didn't do it sooner."

Saru offered the Kelpian version of a shrug: "And I regret I wasn't around to see it. But for now, our focus must be catching the Red Angel."

Michael nodded firmly. "That's what I wanted to talk to you about..." she admitted. " Saru, on Keminar you got a better look at her – me – than anyone. Did you notice any... similarities?"

"As you know, I couldn't see its face. Why do you ask? You don't trust the genetic proof?"

"That's not it, but..." Burnham tugged awkwardly at the hem of her uniform. "You did see the angel's, uhm... shape. So I was wondering..."

Saru stopped to watch Michael bashfully trace the curve of her abdomen; the fold where her plump midsection met an even plumper lovehandle. "Ah, you're wondering if the angel I saw shared your present... robustness. I'm not sure, but didn't get that impression..."

"Then that means... I'll get back in shape, right?" Somehow the assurance didn't lift Burnham's spirit as much as she thought it would. Nevertheless, she left Saru feeling less averse to picking up her breakfast of beans and raw vegetables than usual.

It was remarkable how quickly she had gotten used to a prodigious daily intake of sugar and fats. With Tilly's bad influence no longer indulging her appetite, Michael found her meals deeply unsatisfying. Today the tenuous vision of future slimness gave her confidence in her ability to stick to her diet and this made the carefully calculated assembly of nutrients more palatable. At least for a moment...

"You'd change your tone pretty quickly if you had to work with _her_ hovering over your shoulder," Tilly complained loudly and playfully to Detmer and Owosekun as the three entered the mess. "Frankly I _deserve_ this."

'This' turned out to be a generous helping of ice cream alongside a breakfast augmented by a pair of chocolate croissants. Seeing it all arranged on her tray, Tilly lowered her shoulders as if exhaling all the frustrations built up from having Philippa Georgiou around in Engineering. The happy smile she flashed at her two companions quickly evaporated when she noticed Michael seated on her trajectory.

With a glance at her friend's meagre meal, Tilly winced with guilt. Stammering something unintelligible, she awkwardly changed her course and brought her hedonistic feast and her companions to the opposite end of the mess – far away from where it might tempt Michael.

All of a sudden, Burnham's enthusiasm for her bits of carrot and kale had vanished. She was left to pick at her greens – all alone save for the three women's laughter and a couple surreptitiously apologetic looks from Tilly.

 


	10. Chapter 10

Fresh from the gym, Michael Burnham stepped out of the shower with a soft moan of contentment from the warmth still lingering on her skin. Catching a glimpse of her profile in the mirror gave her pause, unable to look away. It still felt unfamiliar and strange to see herself like this. Such curves and just... so _much_ of them. Michael found herself mesmerized by how the roundness of her belly curved into plump lovehandles, studying every crease and burgeoning roll with detached curiosity.

Touching her chubby cheek, Michael could not help but smile. While it felt like _she_ barely recognized herself... when she had come face to face with the "Red Angel" down on Essof IV, her mother had known who she was right away.

Finishing drying her hair, Michael laughed at the absurdity of it all: She had nearly died trying to lure herself back from the future, only to learn that not only was her mother alive but a _time traveller_. And somehow she had decided what was most shocking about the whole thing was her mother seeing through a bit of extra chub. Perhaps that asphyxiation had killed off a few brain cells and Dr. Culber just didn't want to admit it.

"At least this helped against the temperature fluctuations." Michael patted her chunky flank and remarked wryly: "I suppose Georgiou wasn't lying about 'protecting me'..."

Burnham's hand moved to the front of her potbelly, relieved to see that she was making progress reversing the effects of the Emperor's "care". Sliding her hand up an invisible ruler she confirmed that her belly probably didn't stick out further than her – admittedly significantly fuller – breasts.

Her confidence surged, convinced that her efforts were paying off: Going to the gym. Carefully monitoring her nutrition intake. Being away from Tilly...

...Michael slumped, her confidence evaporated in an instant. Heaving a sigh she slouched down onto a bench. Lovehandles quivered with the impact as her belly pooled onto sprawling thighs. It let her stew in her lonesome misery for but a short while before she was called to action by a hungry growl.

Burnham knew better than tempt fate by starving herself and quickly finished up to make her way to the mess hall. Silently she imagined a carefully selected list of nutritious dishes. More vocally she groaned at the mental blandness. No wonder Tilly thought she was too serious and dull.

Michael shook her head as she walked down the corridor: What Tilly thought of her was the last–

"Oh. Hi there." Stopping a few meters away, Tilly shifted awkwardly from one foot to the other and held up a tentative palm by way of greeting. Her elusive gaze flitted to Burnham's damp hair: "Fresh from the gym, huh? Been working out? I thought we were going togeth– oh never mind! Gotta stick to the regimen, right? Get swole. _Rawr_!" For emphasis, Tilly flexed her arm and felt her own veiled bicep. "...haha..."

Awkwardly stroking her own arm, Burnham was grateful for the redhead's defensive blathering: her attempt to fill the awkward silence between them. "Yeah..." she said eventually, failing miserably to affect a carefree air: "I just popped by for a bit..."

"Uhh-huh."

She wasn't fooling anyone. She was every bit as uptight as Tilly thought she was. "Uh... I better go..."

"Yeah, I was just... uh.. heading to the lab."

"Right..." Burnham made a hasty retreat before she ended up making things even worse by blurting out what she was having for breakfast. A strictly regimented platoon of lentils, spinach, beans and– a final glimpse of Tilly's copper locks caught Michael's eye before she disappeared around a corner. Instantly the list in her mind evaporated and she stomped into the mess hall with frantic determination. She snatched up a tray and slammed it down in front of the replicator: "Cheeseburgers. Plural," she said tersely. "Add fries..." Michael paused for a moment. "...and chocolate fudge cake."

  
  


"Is this really necessary?"

Initially, Burnham had been quite willing to break from her daily routine to check in with Stamets in Engineering. After all, she was the one who would have to use the time suit they were attempting to synthesize. Not to mention, in a way, seeing the suit take shape brought her just that little bit closer to her mother. It was a small comfort in place of the emotional solace she craved in the wake of her mother's sudden, but devastatingly short, reappearance. Michael knew she had not left her willingly, but still it felt like rejection. Just like she herself had been rejecting her only other source of that comfort which she craved...

What Burnham was less enthused by was being met by Stamets, Jett Reno... and a measuring drone. "I thought this was about the suit?"

"It is," Stamets assured her, before adding rather more awkwardly – with an attempt at a reassuring smile to match: "It's just a precaution."

"You already have the schematics–"

Utterly unwilling to pull any punches as usual, Reno activated the drone's hover-mode to interrupt Burnham: "What my esteemed colleague here's trying to say is: we're dealing with a piece of kit more advanced than we – especially he – can fathom. It's not a prom dress we can take in and let out on a whim."

"It will fit," Michael said firmly. Saru had seen the Red Angel – seen _her_ – on Keminar. Wearing the time suit. _Ostensibly_ no heftier than her mother, on whose schematics the suit would be based.

"She has a point..." Stamets glanced over at Reno. Mischievousness tugged at the corner of his eye, eager to contradict his colleague for that jab she had just directed at him. "Any adjustments we make to the design now will be obsolete if Commander Burnham loses more weight."

Reno considered the matter for a moment before offering her begrudging acquiescence. She disabled the measuring drone as if to tell Burnham she was dismissed and said inscrutably: "...or gains it all back..."

  
  


"...and then she was like 'yeah?'" Tilly leaned forward, abandoning her malevolently nonchalant Georgiou impression to get her companions' attention by tapping Detmer's soufflé with her spoon: "That woman's a _total psycho_."

Seeing Owosekun and Detmer pause opposite her, Tilly realized what she had done and gently stroked the offended dessert as if to make it better: "Whoops..."

When this didn't seem to allay their concern, an apprehensive grimace spread across Tilly's face: "Shoot. She's behind me, isn't she..."

Turning warily, she breathed a sigh of relief that was quickly replaced by absolute bewilderment.

"Is this seat taken?" Michael asked evenly. The three women just looked at her like a stranger – which, to be fair, for the last couple weeks she _had been_ at mealtimes. Then their eyes fixated upon her food tray as she sat down: filled almost to the brim with extra dessert.

"Oh... wow..." Tilly exclaimed shakily, the look on her face saying "who are you and what have you done with Michael Burnham?"

"Anyone want some cake?" Michael affected her most winning smile. "No? That means more for me then."

"Are you... alright?"

Burnham took a big bite out of her club sandwich, munching through her words: "Yeah, why wouldn't I be? Mmh, this is really good, you should try some."

Reluctantly, Detmer took a bite of the offered half, nodding in agreement as she chewed. "I didn't know this was on the regular menu."

"It took some convincing," Burnham said as she tucked into luscious dish after luscious dish, making theatre of how heartily she was eating.

"How do you 'convince' a machine?" Owo chuckled.

Detmer visibly relaxed as she accepted the rest of the sandwich: "Tilly, didn't you say you reprogrammed a food synthesizer to only make ice cream when you were a kid?"

As if slapped out of a trance, Tilly spluttered in confusion before feeling compelled to reply: "Uh... oh... what? Oh... that. It was just a matter of calculating the necessary protein concentration and small particle dispersion of emulsifiers."

"Right... of course..." Detmer managed to pretend to understand for all of three seconds before she burst out laughing. And just like that, the awkward atmosphere vanished.

"You gonna eat that?" Burnham asked jokingly, following up on the levity by pointing to Detmer's soufflé. Her humorous request was met with a smile, so chummy it was akin to a balm for her soul. She tucked into the dessert as it was offered to her, doing her best to reflect the warm camaraderie to Tilly beside her and smiling through chocolate-stained teeth.

"Seriously, is there anything you _can't_ do?" Owo told Tilly, shaking her head in mild disbelief.

The redhead's eyes fluttered as she turned her attention away from Burnham to reply, rather morosely: "Well, too bad you can't power a time crystal with ice crea- _heywaitaminute_!"

  
  


Burnham thought her uniform should have fit better by now, compared to the last time she greeted a mystery guest arriving in Discovery's transporter room. She was certain it had felt less restrictive as of late, but having to walk at a brisk pace to keep up with Captain Pike really seemed to push the seams of her trousers to their limit. She made sure to file into the room after the captain so she could surreptitiously feel up her bum to make sure there were no hull breaches.

 _Feels so big... and round_ , she analysed before she snapped back to reality and quickly stepped up beside Pike before he caught on. They had to wait a moment for Tilly to arrive: A small eternity in which she could not quite put that round rear out of her mind... _especially_ when Tilly came up from behind to join them.

Reflexively putting on her overbearing façade, Michael still raised a curious eyebrow when she glanced over at the redhead on her right: "Is that for me?" she joked, eyeing the bowl of spumoni ice cream in Tilly's hands.

"Ohh... no, no! I wouldn't want to ruin your diet! It's for... well, you'll see."

Before Burnham could retort, the trill of the transporter heralded the arrival of a young woman with wild hair and wilder fashion sense. Woad tattoos and nose ring was perhaps not the look Michael imagined for a planetary queen.

"Your Serene Highness, may I–" Pike said with respectful urgency, but was quickly cut off by an outburst of girlish enthusiasm:

"Tilly!" the queen of Xahea exclaimed with a big grin and rushed over to embrace her friend.

Burnham and Pike exchanged patient looks as the two women greeted each other with unbridled excitement. At least "patient" was what Michael was going for. Somehow a burning feeling was welling up inside her; petulant, almost childish.

"Po, this is Commander Michael Burnham," Tilly explained once the hugging was done and ice cream had been offered. She gestured towards the thin-lipped Burnham.

"Your roomie," Po observed, her second eyelids blinking curiously as she cocked her head slightly: "You look taller in your photos."

"Yes I've put on–" Burnham smoothed her uniform over her thick waist, somewhat self-conscious. "Wait... _taller_?" Expecting a comment on her weight, the queen's comment threw Michael for a loop.

Virtually vibrating with barely controlled excitement, Tilly continued by introducing Pike. He proceeded to give the queen a small bow, measured to the exact amount of courtesy expected of their respective stations: "Your Highness Me Hani Ika Hali Ka Po..."

"Po's fine."

"Right. Can you eat and walk?" Pike glanced down at the bowl in Po's hands. "I understand you can help us power a time crystal."

Taking a big spoonful of spumoni, Po nodded blithely and made to follow. Still somewhat perplexed, Burnham made up the rearguard, unable to keep from glowering as she watched Po and Tilly up front, all giggles as they huddled together.

 


	11. Chapter 11

_At least I'm getting a pretty good workout carrying all of this,_ Michael Burnham observed wryly. All this preparation meant she hadn't had time to go to the gym today, but it would be worth it. Balancing the many trays stacked on top of each other, she squeezed into the room she shared with Tilly. With her load deposited on the nightstand, it was time for Step 2 of her scheme.

Determination written on her face, Michael slipped out of her uniform – though "slip" might be too generous a word. The ensuing wriggling and coaxing and tugging sent her hopping around the room, each motion revealing a bit more of her midsection as it jumped, jiggled and shook. Rather undignified, she toppled into bed, groaning as she pushed against the tightness of her jacket where it still covered her gut. Finally the trousers escaped her thighs and from there it was just a matter of shaking them off, then unzipping the jacket.

In hindsight she should probably have started with the zipper; an observation that became abundantly clear as her gut escaped its confines and surged forward to escape her shirt and fill her lap. She simply had never had this much trouble with her uniform before...

Right now that was a problem for another time. Able to move more freely now that her uniform had been haphazardly discarded, Michael set to work. To start, she made sure the way said uniform had been discarded looked just a tad more haphazard. Moving on, she set about arranging the spoils she had brought: Tray upon tray of delicious treats. At least twice the number of cheeseburgers the food synthesizer should probably have allowed her, accompanied by such a wide variety of deep fried potatoes that it would surely have counted towards course credits when she studied xenoanthropology at the Science Academy. An eclectic mix of dishes she had heard Tilly gush about rounded out the feast, followed by enough chocolate fudge cake to feed a starship for a week.

Despite this incredible abundance, it seemed like Burnham had brought too many trays to carry it all. Carefully, she positioned the superfluous trays and dishes in perfect disarray. "Oh hey, Tilly..." she recited to herself before tearing open a packet of sauce. With deft dabs, she smeared some onto the unused tableware. "I didn't know you'd be back so early..."

It was a silly notion: Scatterbrained as she seemed, the redhead was quite strict about her routines. Michael continued her little art project for a few moments of silence before theatrically averting her eyes and bashfully replying to no one: "Yeah, I suppose I _have_ overindulged a little haven't I..."

Burnham surveyed her handiwork from atop her bed, assessing if it seemed like sufficient evidence of such hedonism. Satisfied, she leaned back on the bed and rewarded herself with a big helping of mac and cheese. As she chewed, she gave her fat flank a pat of appraisal. "How is _this_ for 'approachable'!" she defiantly told the empty room.

  
  


Michael had not expected to get even halfway through her Potemkin victuals before Tilly returned, but she clearly underestimated her own appetite. By the time soft moans against her increasingly swollen abdomen clued her into the fact that her roommate might be late, Burnham realized she had nearly polished off all of her flavourful façade.

With a groan full of regret, Burnham ponderously shifted her tautly packed gut. With one hand reassuringly on her bulging flank, she reached out to activate the communicator next to her bed.

"Ugh... Commander Stamets, this is Burnham. Is Tilly still with you down there?"

The astromycologist seemed too perplexed by the question to be annoyed over the interruption: "Uhh... no. Let's see... she and the queen left an hour ago. For... ice cream, was it...?"

Burnham's reply was just a grunt of frustration, cut short when she angrily slapped the communicator into silence. Rolling back onto the bed, she covered her eyes with an arm to stew in misery and barbecue sauce for a while. _Unbelievable!_

"Ahhhg!" she suddenly erupted and flung her arm aside to inadvertently knock over a stack of condiments. While staring intensely at the dark planetoid in her lap, fully unleashed from her shirt in the commotion, Burnham fumbled around to pick up a chunk of chocolate cake. Furiously she bit into it.

No leftovers remained by the time she slipped into a fitful, glutted sleep.

  
  


* * *

  
  


"How could you keep this secret to yourself??"

Tilly chuckled awkwardly at Po's sudden outburst: "It's just pistachio..."

"It's the flavour _of the gods_!" the young queen exclaimed before shovelling another spoonful of spumoni into her mouth. The mess hall was only half-full, but all eyes were at least glancing in their direction.

"That's what you said about cherry too," Tilly laughed. "And chocolate. And..."

The redhead's voice trailed off when she noticed Michael staring at her from across the room. The extra weight she still carried had done nothing to make those piercing eyes any less intense.

With grim determination, Burnham made her way towards the food synthesizers and offered up a terse order. Her chosen meal came into view as she approached Tilly's position with slow, deliberate steps: One bowl of each flavour of ice cream the computer was able to synthesize.

Tilly had not really seen Michael in the last couple of days; out of the room before she woke up and fast asleep by the time Tilly came back. It didn't make her roommate's behaviour seem any less strange. Burnham was wearing a "DISCO" shirt, so Tilly assumed she came straight from the gym, but what was she doing with so much ice cream?

As Michael approached, Tilly made to greet her, only to be left hanging when her friend suddenly stopped one table away. Eyes fixed on Tilly, Burnham sat down opposite her at the other table, carefully positioned to be seen over Po's shoulder. In sullen protest she began to eat.

  
  


* * *

  
  


Burnham let out a sigh of contentment and slipped a little lower in her seat. Unconsciously she hooked a finger into the waistband of her gym leggings and inched it down a bit. At this hour the mess hall was empty, which was why she had come here late in the evening.

Her meal had been excellent – and if she was being honest, a little too big, but thanks to the cleanerbots only a small plate carrying a slice of meringue pie remained. For now she was content to leave it while she basked in this snug satisfaction. A moment of respite where there was no Section 31. No looming end of all life. No annoyingly tight uniform. No Me Hani Ika Hali Ka Po and no...

Tilly had already ordered her double espresso by the time she noticed Burnham's presence. With exaggerated nonchalance she picked up the cup and sauntered over to her table. "Just, uh, getting my fix," she shrugged. "So... how–how's it going?"

"Should you be drinking coffee this late?" Burnham blurted out and immediately regretted it. _Approachable!,_ she berated herself. "Uh, never mind! I'm... having a late night snack...?"

Still standing, Tilly pointed at the pie slice, coffee cup in hand: "That's it?"

"Ahhh..." Under the table, Michael's hand rubbed her full belly furtively. She braced herself and affected her most (but not very) lackadaisical tone: "Nooo... I'm just getting started!" Hidden from view, her shirt steadfastly refused her attempts to pull it over an exposed slice of gut. "G-grab something for me would you?"

"Like what?" Tilly asked, wary of inadvertently messing up her friend's diet again.

"Oh you know me..." Michael grimaced anxiously. "Can't get enough of that ice cream." Carefully she studied Tilly's reaction and continued tentatively: "And a milkshake." No reaction. " _Two_ milkshakes?"

"Haha, wow," Tilly chuckled as her friend's order grew and grew: an increasingly eclectic mix in search of the right answer. "I'd ask for the kitchen sink too, but I think the computer might draw the line there."

Burnham returned the redhead's smile and nodded confidently to herself: _Bam! So approachable!_

 

That confidence flagged as reality started piling up around her. Her already stuffed belly felt progressively fuller at the mere sight of each new dish, but there was nothing for it. With Tilly sitting down opposite her to enjoy her coffee, Burnham had no choice but to dig in. With what little feigned gusto she could muster, she dug into an oversized sundae, determined to be the very picture of relatable indulgence.

 _See? I don't have the willpower to resist this cake,_ her eyes tried to say. _I'm just as obsessed with ice cream as your new best friend._ Only when Tilly emptied the last of her coffee did Michael realize she had been too busy eating to say anything _with her mouth_.

"Well I better be going back to the lab..." As she got up, Tilly no doubt noticed Burnham's struggle and added: "Want me to get rid of this for you?"

 _Yes please!_ Michael's eyes pleaded. Even leaning back in her chair she could feel the table edge dig into her painfully packed middle. She felt like a bomb about to go off and the shortcake on her fork was the detonator. Despite this, she groaned through clenched teeth: "No... I'm... _hnnngh_... just getting started."

"Aye, aye," Tilly chortled. With a mischievous glint in her eye she leaned forward and snatched the piece of cake from Michael's fork. This left the poor woman stunned.

On her way out, the redhead turned her head with a joking word of caution: "Careful with that spumoni, though! Po's already put on weight since she came here, I think."

Michael just stared as Tilly's laughter disappeared down the hall. However, the sweet smells from the table diverted her attention soon enough. Grunting and huffing she tried to get up, much to the dismay of her poor tummy. Finally giving into its protests, Burnham clutched her sides and gave up. There was no escaping the torturous temptations laid out before her.

With an indignant huff, Burnham dropped the fork in her hand and struggled to reach a spoonful of ice cream. "Po this, Po that. Hmph. I'll show you 'Po'!" she growled and showed it into her mouth.


End file.
